


The Blue Castle

by skoosiepants



Category: Bandom, Blue Castle - L. M. Montgomery, Panic At The Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-23
Updated: 2007-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-11 20:43:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skoosiepants/pseuds/skoosiepants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not!fic: Spencer has always been a good son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Castle

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note on what I deem not!fic: a story that's not fully realized and also where the premise or plot is not mine. This is not, however, very accurate, and you probably don't have to know the original story to understand it. I last read The Blue Castle over a decade ago, so. Enjoy.

Spencer has always been a good son. A perfect, perfectly boring son, staying home with his mama once his sisters, both younger and older and all pretty, were one by one married off.  
  
Sarah is the last, and she’s giddy beyond anything about her impending nuptials, and Spencer is still the staid, level-headed brother with the plain, attic room and the chipped, warped mirror, which he hardly ever looks in. Maybe just quick enough to see if his hair is neat – mama would be horrified – but he doesn’t like his soft face and his wide mouth and eyes that are _blue_ , when everyone else in his family was blessed with lovely, baby deer brown. Mama has always called him _unfortunate_ , patting his arm fondly. Spencer has always ducked his head and bit his tongue.  
  
Until he gets the letter from his doctor. He’s been having frequent pangs in his chest, bothersome and sharp, but the letter is a complete _shock_ , nothing he could ever imagine – he’s dying. He’s dying, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. He could go at any moment, and the doctor urges him to avoid excitement, since any stress on his heart could cause it to suddenly stop, and Spencer experiences three seconds of gripping terror before he realizes this is his _life_. He’s boring and is set to be boring for the rest of his apparently short stay on earth, and he’s so dissatisfied and disgusted with everything, with his whole family, who coddles and belittles him in the same breath.  
  
He doesn’t tell anyone about his condition. He packs up his meager belongings and informs his family that he’s moving out, and moving in with William Beckett. There was an advert in the paper for a companion, since William is a hussy – as Spencer’s family readily tells him, while his mama wails about her broken heart, and Spencer stiffens his spine against her manipulations, since he knows his mama loves him, but he can’t stay, he just _can’t_ – and probably won’t last out the year. Spencer is strong, and not suffering, for all his impending doom, and William, well. William _needs_ him, and Spencer instantly likes the man when they meet.  
  
William is tall and too thin, and he has dark smudges underlining tired eyes. He’s got a self-depreciating wit, and a rapidly diminishing appetite that Spencer immediately sets upon himself to reverse. He bakes pies and cookies and pastries and he’s never been that good of a cook, but he’s learning, and William laughs at him, covered head to toe in flour, sweaty from the oven, and Spencer likes to hear William laugh.  
  
William naps in the afternoons, sprawled out on the couch like a lazy cat, just under the front bay window, breeze and sunshine layering the room with comfortable warmth.  
  
Spencer doesn’t know what to do with himself when William is asleep.  
  
*  
  
William has beautiful gardens around his little house. He tends to them himself until he can’t, and then Jon tends them. Jon is William’s friend, as far as Spencer can tell. They aren’t close. They don’t talk that much, they don’t gossip, but they like each other’s company. Spencer does not know exactly why Jon is helping William, but he drives a fast car and wears all the sharpest clothes.  
  
There are rumors about Jon around town, too. He’s mysterious and doesn’t fit in, and everything that’s mysterious and ill-fitting is automatically deemed _bad_. They say he’s killed. They say he’s raped and pillaged and Spencer wonders if Jon’s some sort of pirate – in a romantically wistful sort of way, since Spencer is very down-to-earth except when he isn’t, and no one would ever suspect, from just looking at him, his fanciful turnings – while at the same time Spencer knows Jon isn’t, couldn’t ever be _bad._  
  
William pokes him in the side one afternoon when Spencer can’t help but peek out the window as Jon weeds the side plot, overrun with wildly colored snapdragons. Jon has his sleeves rolled up, knees damp and muddy, hair pushed back off his forehead with sweat.  
  
“You like him,” William says slyly, and Spencer blushes.  
  
He blushes but he says, “Of course I do,” because what isn’t there to like about Jon? He’s always so polite, and always has a friendly greeting for Spencer, even though there’s an occasional dark twist to his smile. Spencer wonders what or who put that dark twist there. Spencer wonders where he goes when he takes off in his fast car. Spencer wonders a lot about Jon.  
  
*  
  
Jon is curious about Spencer. What kind of proper young man would take up with William? And what is Spencer really like, that William would tolerate his fussing? Jon likes William and all, but he is what he is, and Spencer is just so. Well. He wears an awful lot of dull, washed-out colors and doesn’t do much with his appearance, short of keeping himself clean. He’s soft and slim and odd. Not handsome, but something.  
  
He helps Jon in the garden occasionally, though, like he really enjoys it, and one time, one time, Jon catches him completely unguarded, smiling delightedly at the bunch of late daffodils Jon impulsively gives him and the way his mouth moves, the way his eyes light, the way the pleased blush spreads over his cheeks, stuns Jon almost breathless. Spencer is lovely like that.  
  
Jon blinks and shakes his head, laughs at himself for his wayward thoughts.  
  
Spencer says, “Thank you,” demurely and Jon ruffles the back of his head, shoulders shrugging.  
  
William has always loved pretty things. Jon thinks maybe he knows why William’s kept Spencer, even if he’s still not sure why Spencer’s kept William.  
  
*  
  
Spencer’s not sure what brings Jon to invite him along, and by the surprise on Jon’s face as the invitation slips out, he thinks perhaps Jon isn’t sure, either.  
  
William insists he go, practically pushing him out the door to “have some fun, for once, Spencer,” and Spencer twists his fingers together in nerves, sliding into the passenger seat of Jon’s fast car.  
  
A dance. He’s going to a dance, and he’s never been to a dance before, and it’s slightly mortifying to think that he’s reached such a great age without ever having _danced_. He’s uncomfortable, and Jon fidgets beside him when they arrive, and he knows Jon wants to take off, do his own thing, greet his friends and have _his_ kind of fun, but he’s reluctant. Spencer knows he’s reluctant to leave him or even tug him into the melee. Spencer is obviously on the brink of darting away to hide – he won’t, of course, because Spencer has resolved never to run away from anything, not anymore, since each moment could be his very last – and Jon is, no matter what the rumors say, every inch a gentleman.  
  
Jon stares at him, and Spencer flashes a quick, small smile, and Jon nods and then cups his elbow and says, “Come on,” and then Spencer meets Brendon, whose feet are itching to move. Brendon pulls Spencer out onto the dance floor and Spencer has no idea what he’s doing, but Brendon is so enthusiastic about everything that Spencer is only self-conscious for a moment, and then he’s laughing at Brendon’s spastic dancing and the way he sings along with the band, loud enough to warrant playful mock-glares from other couples.  
  
Later, Spencer meets Ryan. Ryan plays guitar and is slightly reserved until Spencer compliments the music, and then he’s friendly and jokes with Brendon, and Spencer has never met two people so oblivious of personal boundaries. They are all over each other and all over Jon and all over _Spencer_ and it should have made him feel awkward but it doesn’t.  
  
Spencer is flushed and sweaty by the time Jon escorts him home. He’s had so much fun, and he feels only slightly guilty when he sneaks into the darkened house to find William asleep on the couch, curled into the cushions with labored breathing.  
  
It isn’t until he’s snug in his bed that he thinks about the dancing; about the lively music and the rhythmic pounding of feet, and that it’s a wonder his heart hadn’t burst. He resolves to be more careful about it, but he still can’t help softly humming Ryan’s songs to himself as he drifts off to sleep.  
  
*  
  
Spencer has three wonderful months with William before William starts to decline so rapidly all the cheer is sucked out of the house. William, weak with fever and fits of coughing, is still in surprisingly good spirits, but that doesn’t relieve Spencer’s mind any. He’s going to miss him when he’s gone.  
  
Jon cuts flowers everyday for them, since William loves pretty things, loves the cloying scent of summer blossoms – and forever after, Spencer will always equate them with death and William, and it will be a bittersweet remembrance – and William lasts until the oaks turn and drop and the mums brown at the edges.  
  
It is deep autumn, damp and chill, when William is finally set to rest in the ground.  
  
*  
  
Spencer has a proposition for Jon. It’s a strange proposition, and Jon stares at him, then looks down at the letter Spencer has shoved into his hands, and then he says, “You want me to marry you.”  
  
It’s a crazy, wild, stupid idea, yes, but it’s the only one Spencer can think of that will keep him out of his mama’s clutches. William is dead. He can’t stay in the little house any longer by himself, and he trusts Jon, for all that he doesn’t really know him.  
  
“Just.” Spencer pauses, glances down at his shoes. “Just for a while,” he says, “not forever.” Because he can’t give Jon forever, even if he wanted to.  
  
*  
  
Jon is not sure what to do.  
  
The letter, the dry, horrible facts pillowed by the doctor’s meaningless platitudes, send an undefined shiver up Jon’s spine. He likes Spencer. He’s never wanted to marry anyone before, and he doesn’t now, either, except Spencer is looking at him squarely with both hope and resignation in his blue eyes, an oddly appealing mixture, and Jon remembers all Spencer did for William, how he never looked down at him for who he was, how easily he accepted his eccentric friends, and he can’t bring himself to tell Spencer no.  
  
*  
  
Spencer’s mama, who has been waiting impatiently for this Beckett character to die and give her back her son, is more irate than horrified by the turn of events that happen next.  
  
She yells, “Where will you live?” at him, because Jon is a no-good scoundrel, most likely poor as dirt and below Spencer’s social standing. She shouts, “If you do this, you are no longer my son,” at him, and Spencer is saddened but resolute. He can’t live his life to please her. This is something he wishes he realized a lot sooner than he did.  
  
They are married quietly. They are married and then Jon drives Spencer out of town, into the woods, until the woods break open on a lake. Across the lake is a beautiful house, framed by dark trees and the blue-purple trails of sunset. It’s apparently Jon’s house and it’s the sort of house Spencer has always wanted to live in, big and sprawling and lovely.  
  
Jon settles Spencer in a guest room, because they never said this union was going to be more than name only, and tells him he’s free to roam wherever, but to keep out of the shed out back.  
  
Spencer wonders if that’s where he keeps all his pirate treasure and grins to himself. He slides his fingers over the afghan draped over the end of the bed, bright blue and yellow and crimson, garish and unapologetically cheery.  
  
Jon shifts in the doorway, more awkward than Spencer has ever seen him, but then he nods, says, “Goodnight,” in a soft voice and turns away.  
  
*  
  
Spencer loves everything about living with Jon. He loves the grounds, the sharp scent of sap after it snows, the way the lake crystallizes with frost along the edges. He loves sharing breakfast in the morning, hot coffee and muffins Spencer has finally mastered. He loves talking with Jon late into the night, warm in front of the hearth. He loves hearing stories of Jon’s adventures with Ryan and Brendon, and he loves to hear him play the piano in the parlor, loves to lean into his side and be silent and still.  
  
Jon disappears into his shed for hours at a time, but Spencer doesn’t mind. He always comes out for dinner, for the rest of the night, and Spencer is oddly content until he isn’t content anymore.  
  
*  
  
In the Spring, four things happen almost all at once.  
  
Spencer gets the scare of his life, foot caught in between railroad ties with the whistle of an oncoming train bearing down on him. Jon’s eyes are wild and frantic as he pulls him free, and then they’re both breathing hard, staring at each other as the steam engine roars past, and both their hearts are pounding, echoing against their chests pressed together, and Spencer _is not dead_. Oh god, he’s _not_.  
  
Directly after, Jon retreats to his shed and is quiet and withdrawn and Spencer doesn’t know what to think of that. He doesn’t know what Jon is thinking, but by all rights Spencer should be _dead_. His heartbeat had been crazy and erratic and nearly in his throat and _excited_ would have been a bit of an understatement.  
  
So he contacts his doctor, looking for an explanation, and his doctor, his elderly, flakey doctor calls him into his office to apologize profusely. He’s just been over his notes, and he realizes he’s made a grave mistake, and that the letter Spencer received nearly a year ago had been intended for a Mr. _Smithe_ , e on the end, and that Spencer was perfectly fine, just should probably get some more exercise and fresh air.  
  
And then the fourth thing, after the train incident and Jon’s sudden withdrawal and the doctor’s horrible, life-ruining mistake – will Jon think he’s been tricked, saddled for life with a husband he hadn’t wanted? Will Jon hate him? Will he ever be able to forgive him? – is that Jon’s brother shows up out of the blue just as Spencer reaches the lake house that afternoon.  
  
*  
  
Pete Wentz – “He’s changed his name; it’s taken me forever to find him, but I’m sneaky and tenacious.” – is chatty and informative and Spencer’s stunned. Spencer didn’t think Jon had any family.  
  
Pete Wentz is very obviously in charge of Wentz Home Remedies, a peddler of brews and potions to heal everything from megrims to rashes to failing at love. Pete Wentz is very obviously and obnoxiously rich.  
  
“Our father started it,” he says proudly, “but Jon’s been running from us his entire life. Wants to write books.” He’s still proud when he says that, though, and he amends, “ _Has_ written books. With pictures. Damn good ones, too,” and Spencer has no idea what to say.  
  
He lets Pete into the house and lets him talk, lets him tell him all about the things Jon should have told him about, except they weren’t well and truly married – except they _are_ , now, and that’s enough to make Spencer blindly panic - until Jon comes home, stops dead in the doorway and just stares at Pete, blinks, shakes his head, then grins.  
  
They hug, and Spencer feels awkward, even more so when Jon catches his eye and something undefined flickers over them, something undefined and sad.  
  
*  
  
“So I’m a rich hermit who writes novels about woodchucks.”  
  
Spencer blinks. Looks over at Jon where he’s dropped down next to him on the porch. “Woodchucks?”  
  
Jon shrugs. “Nature, anyway.”  
  
Spencer nods, clears his throat, tightens his hands around his knees. “So I’m apparently not going to die.”  
  
“Not going to…” Jon trails off.  
  
Spencer turns to see him slack-jawed and staring. He says, “It was a mistake, the doctor made a mistake and I’m so sorry, Jon.”  
  
“You’re not going to die,” Jon says flatly.  
  
Spencer rubs a hand over his face. “Not anytime soon, no,” he says, then quietly, almost a whisper, he repeats, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“But.” Jon laughs, and it’s desperate and short and relieved and he says, “God, Spencer,” and he pulls Spencer towards him and presses a palm to Spencer’s face and kisses him. The kiss is just as short and desperate as his laugh and when he pulls away he keeps his hand warm on Spencer’s cheek, the other around his nape, and says, “Spencer, oh my god, _Spencer_ ,” like he can’t say anything else, and Spencer’s suddenly grinning.  
  
Spencer’s grinning because he _gets_ it. He gets everything. Spencer grips the front of Jon’s shirt and leans up, letting Jon’s fingers slide into his hair and he says, “I love you, too,” against Jon’s parted lips.


End file.
